


A brief love interlude

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of love between Sherlock and John. Nothing more</p>
            </blockquote>





	A brief love interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 9 of "Around the World" work 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5660290

They arrived to their hotel and John was desperate to take Sherlock to bed; he needed to feel him in as many ways as possible, there was something about that hidden soft side of Sherlock that rendered John incapable of controlling himself, and images of them making love came rushing to his mind and he needed Sherlock, not only emotionally but physically.

He divested his husband slowly, revering every scar, kissing every patch of skin. He kept enough control to please his husband as much as possible, instead of ravishing him with his almost feral need. Sherlock let John do what he wanted; he knew that it was best to do so.

Soon, he was naked, squirming under John’s touch, he tried to undress John, but John swat his hands away and undressed himself rapidly. He lied next to Sherlock and caressed him softly, touching every scar reverently, feeling them with the tips of his fingers. There was no urgency, he had enough time; he had his whole life to do the same, every night if he wanted to do so.

He moves his hands up and down, letting his body move naturally against Sherlock’s, kissing every inch of skin, going from his earlobe trailing a path down to his ankles and going up again, stopping for a couple of minutes at Sherlock’s throbbing length, giving a long lick along the shaft, feeling in his tongue how it moves and pulses with need. He takes Sherlock fully in his mouth and smiles around him, enjoying the reaction he has on him.

Sherlock’s breathe hitches and he chokes a moan that manages to escape his lips, before he calls John with his deep voice, encouraging him to speed up, to swallow; to move his mouth around him; but John has other plans and he just enjoys the moment, teasing Sherlock further, driving him to a state of mind where he no longer controls all his thoughts, and is rendered mindless under John’s touch.

John finally releases him and moves up his body, straddling him, while he kneels between his legs and watches the real Sherlock, the one that he loves and cares for most. The sensitive creature that is putty in his hands, the soft spoken and almost innocent man that gives him the chance to see him as he truly is, vulnerable and loving. He moves his hands under the pillow, knowingly, looking for that little bottle that Sherlock always hides under it.

Triumphant, he gets the bottle and opens it, obtaining the oh so desired liquid and pouring some on his hand, while the other travels up and down Sherlock’s length, keeping the interest, the arousal, filling his eyes with the wonderful sight that unravels in front of him. He wraps his hand around himself, a couple of strokes suffice to wet him enough and to send a shiver down his spine, he can’t hold it anymore, and Sherlock is willing

Slowly, as if it were the first time, he pushes himself inside his lover, feeling how the muscle loosens and opens up for him, receiving him in that warm haven that is Sherlock. He moves slowly, wanting to feel everything, his arms on each side of Sherlock’s head, looking at him, locking gazes; as he thrusts slowly, softly, in and out, one, two, ten, twenty times, slowly, hitting the same spot every time, watching Sherlock’s pupils blown up, hearing his breath quicken, and feeling his body heat up with every thrust.

He moves his lips to Sherlock’s mouth, and kisses him, softly, feeling his lips, using his tongue to taste him, never quickening his pace, closing his eyes to enjoy the delicious flavour of Sherlock’s mouth, and he allows his mouth to travel further down, to Sherlock’s neck, and enjoys the effect he has, feeling his pulse, going faster, and faster, and he feels the need to move faster, and do as Sherlock demands, go faster, harder, deeper

“More, more, more” Sherlock begs “Deeper, harder, faster” He moans “I need you John, I love you, John” He sighs, and John loses the little bit of mind he has left, and goes deeper, and harder and faster, and fills Sherlock with his movements, as his lips kiss and suck Sherlock’s neck, enjoying every sound, and his hands travel up and down Sherlock’s sides, holding his hips, and his legs, moving rhythmically together, like one body, one soul, one desire.

Sherlock finishes, untouched, like every time John decides to have him the way he does, calling John’s name, one, two, ten times, and John follows shortly behind, breathless, whispering Sherlock’s name, kissing him softly, both trying to breathe through each other’s lips, never breaking the kiss, closing their eyes to allow themselves to gather their thoughts, to learn how to breathe again, to come down to earth from this heavenly bliss that is coming together.

Their hips eventually come to a full stop, and John is lost in the scents that their bodies produce that all he has left is to hold Sherlock close to ground himself again, to come down the cloud they have created, letting the bubble explode and bring him down to reality; the reality of Sherlock’s body under him, flushed, sated, sweaty, and simply gorgeous.

He licks a few droplets of sweat from Sherlock’s neck and hums with pleasure, Sherlock, as always, tastes heavenly, no other flavour can compare to the one Sherlock has after sex. He feels Sherlock relax and breathe easily, and he pulls out of him, watching Sherlock pout. John knows what Sherlock likes, but he needs to move, to reconnect his brain to his body, to be able to breathe fully again, fearing to be too mesmerized by the siren like voice Sherlock has, that he would never be able to think about anything else but making love to Sherlock.

He has to smile, his brain orders his mouth to smile, but all he manages is a lopsided grin, half his brain is still off, and is asking for more; but his body needs time, and his brain manages to wait for a few more minutes, and finally turns fully on. He holds Sherlock close and kisses him sloppily. Sherlock needs time too, to cool down a bit, to recuperate some strength.

He leaves the bed and goes to the bathroom, some water is needed to clean the mess they are, and also to rehydrate them after their activities. More than an hour has passed since they began; their stamina in full thanks to all the sex having, love making and Paris walking.

He cleans Sherlock with the same love he always does. And enjoys the soft sighs Sherlock produces whenever the fabric touches his sensitive skin, and he knows Sherlock is thankful for the slightly cold rag and the time span, even when he pouts. Now he can fully smile and look at his gorgeous man relax, once again under his touch. All that is left now is to start all over again, but this time, John knows that Sherlock will want to go faster, harder, moving over John, controlling him for many minutes to come, until joy and bliss will fill them again, and they will be fighting to get air in their lungs, all over again.

To John’s surprise, Sherlock takes his time, prepares John slowly, savouring him, his gorgeous mouth getting the filthiest sounds out John’s, making him sweaty and having him panting heavily again. Sherlock rides John, enjoying and elongating the minutes, taking his breath away and making him move his hands all over his back, getting handfuls of locks while his mouth desperately tries to possess Sherlock’s.

They finish again, falling willingly into the bliss that fills them, feeling each other’s body moving encompassed, coming up and down, breathing each other slowly, lovingly; murmuring words of love against each other’s lips. This time it takes John’s brain longer to get back, too lost in Sherlock’s eyes to even think straight. He knows that those eyes are telling him all the words of love unwritten and impossible to be said, being any language useless to convey what that look says.

They fall into bed, not wanting to move; and Sherlock getting his way; having John fully sated and inside him. They lay there, adoring each other, no words needed, until Morpheus finally calls him to rest in the green pastures and blue skies that Sherlock’s eyes give him.


End file.
